


hold me closer, backseat driver

by casualbird



Series: ukatake wk 2021 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Making Out, silly bastards and the cranky bastards who love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Because a drunken Ittetsu is a pixieish thing, sprightly and overallmore,and Keishin adores him so that he doesn’t even mind being designated driver.Keishin loves him. Even if it’s late, and he is tired; even if it is a hike out to Ittetsu’s building; even if Ittetsu backseat-drives like his grandmother.Even then.It's late, and Ukai just wants to get his tipsy boyfriend home. Takeda has other plans.
Relationships: Takeda Ittetsu/Ukai Keishin
Series: ukatake wk 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092188
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	hold me closer, backseat driver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dan/gifts).



> i voted for the prompt about ukai's stupid car as a joke, but since that actually made it onto the prompt list i decided i had to do it

“Ukai-kun. Ukai-kun, you’ve gotta yield.”

It’s half one in the morning. There’s nobody in the crosswalk, and there won’t be for hours.

Still, Keishin hunches over his tiny steering wheel and yields, with a soft smile on his face.

“Ooh, Ukai-kun! Be careful, there’s a deaf child on this street!”

The child is, without doubt, in bed. Keishin is careful anyway, snickering soft under his breath.

This because Ittetsu is curled up in the passenger seat, wide eyes punch-drunk and sparkling, because he’s found the road signs to be the most scintillating modern Japanese literature of all.

Because a drunken Ittetsu is a pixieish thing, sprightly and overall _more,_ and Keishin adores him so that he doesn’t even mind being designated driver.

Keishin loves him. Even if it’s late, and he is tired; even if it is a hike out to Ittetsu’s building; even if Ittetsu backseat-drives like his grandmother.

Even then.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, sensei,” Keishin mumbles, when entreated to be _very_ careful of an upcoming railroad track. But it’s not particularly true. He would probably love Ittetsu if he looked like Godzilla.

But then he wouldn’t fit in the car, canary little toaster that it is, and he’d miss out on all the fun. Really, Keishin’s the one who’s lucky.

“I am cute,” Ittetsu asserts, with all the certain pride of a man staking claim to a just-discovered land.

“Y’re drunk, is what you are,” Keishin’s voice is gruff, cigarette-heavy, still as fond as ever he’s been.

Ittetsu gasps. “I am _not,_ I am a _schoolteacher!_ Positive role models don’t—practice went really well today, don’t you think, Ukai-kun?“

A nod. It’s true. It’s why they’d gone for drinks in the first place, for a nightcap after a rewarding day’s work.

Keishin was still getting used to the concept of a _rewarding day’s work,_ so perhaps they toasted these occasions a little more often than most.

“I was _very_ proud of Azumane-kun for being honest about his feelings. Maybe I should say something?” He sounds almost dreamy, thrilling with a love for The Work.

“Gotta agree,” Keishin says, but it’s absolutely not to placate him. None of this conciliatory nonsense—he just doesn’t want to get in the way. Just wants to _listen._

“I love those kids, Ukai-kun.”

“Yup.”

_I love them, too._

A pause stretches out in front of them, endless and half-lit and peaceful as the road. Ittetsu hums his little tune, the one that Keishin can never place and loves anyway.

Someday he’ll ask about it. This isn’t the time, though, not with Ittetsu sighing in his passenger seat, staring at him with eyes like little moons.

Keishin watches the road, because Ittetsu would never forgive him if he didn’t. But there’s a calm in it, for how well he’s come to know the way.

He drives on like that a little while, wondering whatever he did to deserve it.

And then the peace is splintered like a snapped pencil, on Ittetsu’s urgent gasp.

“Keishin!”

Since when does Ittetsu call him by his given name?

Since when does Keishin love it so much?

What the hell’s the matter, anyway? An animal crossing, maybe, or a four-way stop, or maybe something actually wrong. Keishin opens his mouth, doesn’t get a chance to ask.

“You gotta pull over, Keishin,” Ittetsu whines, puling and purposeful and oh, oh _shit._

“Y-yeah? You good, sensei?”

A laugh, then, bright like running through a sprinkler, “oh! Oh no no Keishin I’m great! Shipshape and…” he chews his lip a little, remembering, “Bristol-fashion!”

“You just have to pull over,” he tells him, in a tone like a report card.

Keishin does as he’s told. Ittetsu grins.

Keishin’s got his mouth half-open, searching for something like _need anything?_ when the air is alight again with Ittetsu’s voice, impossibly chipper and impossibly true.

“I like the things you say,” he tells him.

Keishin wracks with it, with warmth, his fingers turning bloodless on the steering wheel. With the other hand he reaches out, slow and shaking, to ruffle Ittetsu’s hair.

“I know,” he rasps, because he does. Because it means _I love you,_ would mean that even for someone who loves words half as much as Ittetsu.

Because Keishin knows that Ittetsu loves him. Ittetsu has said it before, and sober as the grave. Even if he hadn’t—it’s not as if he’d ever lie.

“I know,” says Keishin again, and thinks fondly on shouldering Ittetsu up his building’s stairwell, of slipping off his tie. Setting water and ibuprofen on the nightstand, next to Ittetsu’s sexy books.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, maybe. For a little while.

“Let’s get you home,” he says.

Ittetsu just snickers, shakes his head, reaches wobbly and impish to unbuckle Keishin’s seatbelt.

“Absolutely not before you give me a kiss!”

Keishin’s brow falls deep into its premature furrows, crinkling above his nose. Still, his lips curl up, still he breathes his laughter.

_What are they, parking? Is this some fifties B-movie? Where’s the man with the hook hand?_

Heaven help him, Keishin doesn’t say any of it. He just does, because, well—he thinks the word for what he is is _whipped._

He doesn’t even mind, doesn’t mind the hour or Ittetsu’s petulant insistence or the way the stick shift jabs him in the kidney while he leans in, lays his lips on the end of Ittetsu’s nose.

And then—he can practically hear Ittetsu’s drunken whine, something about kissing _properly,_ but he doesn’t have to because Ittetsu is just barreling for it, mouths smashing, sweaty fingers grasping at his collar. Because Ittetsu is sighing, soft in a way that belies his vigor; because he’s swaying, shaking just the littlest bit when Keishin gets his hands on his shoulders, in the tipsy tangle of his hair.

“Keishin,” whispers Ittetsu, without drawing back at all—he can feel every syllable, can taste the beer and the okonomiyaki and the sparks on Ittetsu’s tongue.

He jolts with it, bashes his knee _hard_ against the dash. When he swears, Ittetsu’s mouth is there to catch it, and that probably shouldn’t be hot and—

“We are not going all the way in this car,” Keishin hisses, but it’s soft, said with his forehead pressed to Ittetsu’s, into the scant warm space between them.

Ittetsu just laughs, sweet and chittering and far too loud. “No,” he affirms, all strident. “I cannot consent.”

“You can’t.” It’s just a fact of the universe at this point. The store opens at seven, and water is wet, and Ittetsu is vibrating high like a tuning fork on some completely alien frequency.

It doesn’t matter. Keishin always liked babysitting drunk friends.

“Also we wouldn’t fit,” Ittetsu adds, after a long soft-smiling moment. This, too, is true: the stick shift still batters Keishin’s insides, pressing in at a new, odder angle with every breath.

It doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t bother him at all.

“And I wouldn’t dream of fu—of _making love_ in such an ugly car.“

Perhaps this bothers him a _little._ It’s _his_ ugly car, goddammit, just like the kids are his and Ittetsu’s dumbass brood, just like Ittetsu is _his ridiculous boyfriend._

“I could make you walk home,” says Keishin, dry but without heat. Ittetsu squawks with it anyway, lays half-sloppy kisses on his face and promises he’ll be good. Keishin just tells him he better, and gets the stick shift out of his guts.

And then presses it right back in, for one last lazy kiss. And then gives his liver some respite, buckles his seatbelt, turns the godawful key in the godawful ignition of his godawful yellow car.

_His_ godawful car. His Ittetsu.

His life that, of late, hasn’t been half bad.

**Author's Note:**

> hope this could give you some good vibes! what a long strange trip it's been.
> 
> anyway always use a designated driver, rotate water between drinks, and leave a comment on this fic if you liked it please! in addition you are welcome to come chill out with me on [twitter (18+)](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) since i need more hq friends!
> 
> have as good a day as you are able, stay safe, and much love!
> 
> mye


End file.
